Gaston tugged at his school uniform, tight around his arms, chest, and legs. It had fit him only a few months earlier, but no more. He couldn't complain to his mother and father though, they could barely afford to keep up appearances as it was. The expensive, much needed repairs at the tavern would pay off in the long run, but for now their small home falling to pieces as they sold off tapestries, silverware and candlesticks.
Besides, it didn't matter if they fit or not, he hated the clothes very nearly as much as the establishment he attended. After checking himself in the mirror three final times, he decided he was set to leave. Pulling his books off of the kitchen table, he kissed his mother's cheek and walked out the door. Only one more year of the odious Headmaster, and his instructor's punishments each time he showed up without a clue what he'd been supposed to read.
It wasn't that he didn't try to read it. Well, he used to try. He didn't bother anymore, not when the dull words all blurred together. He didn't care what Charlemagne did or didn't do, not any more than he cared about Latin and Greek. He didn't know why his mother even insisted he go to school, it hardly mattered if he knew any of the garbage they taught him. He was the best hunter in the village, not to mention would inherit the tavern one day. What did he need with books?
He trudged through the village, preening slightly when the baker's daughter eyed him, smiling secretly, and batted her eyelashes. He marched on with his chest puffed out, and his head slightly higher recalling the last time he'd had his hands on the girl. Her lips soft against his, her hair in his fingers and the feel of her soft body pressed into his. She was beautiful; he knew every boy in the village wished they were in his place when they saw the smiles and giggles she reserved only for him.
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his smile increasing still further as it confirmed what he already knew. At least he looked good, even if the uniform was bloody uncomfortable. Of course, Gaston always looked good. The most handsome boy in town. Marching up the steps into the school, he looked around for LeFoux, wondering why the short, gangly kid found himself late this time.
He smirked at the sight of his friend running wildly through the streets to try and make it on time, not even noticing when he dropped his history text just past where the women gathered to do laundry. He didn't feel much sympathy. The headmaster's criticism could fall to someone else for a change, it would be refreshing.
The day went by, and despite Gaston's hopes, his failing to do the reading assignment was noted and punished, culminating in some scathing words from the Headmaster at the end of the day. He tried his best not to roll his eyes, not even knowing what half the words the man was using meant. What was the worst he could do? Expel him? At least it would mean his mother would finally be unable to talk him into going back.
When it was finally time to leave, he couldn't be more relieved. Like every day, a group of boys quickly surrounded him, and he'd enjoy their deference until he caught sight of an instructor or the Headmaster glaring in his direction. It was the signal that it was time for him to trudge out of the building next to LeFoux, muttering about his desire to burn the place down. Save future children from suffering through the same fate they all had. LeFoux tended to nod along, despite his own bizarre appreciation for schoolwork and readings.
He was looking forward to putting some distance between the building, those in it, and himself when he was caught off guard by the headmaster, pushing past them, nearly bowling over his smaller friend over in the process. Following his line of sight, Gaston's gaze quickly fell on his unknowing victim. He nudged LeFoux, jerking his head towards the girl.
She sat cross legged next to a forgotten laundry basket, her big brown eyes roving over the pages of what could only be LeFoux's very own dropped course reader. Gaston felt a twinge of pity for her, knowing what he knew about the Headmaster's belief that it was not only his God given right, but duty to enlighten the village on what he thought was proper. Very little of what Gaston did apparently fell into that category, if the man had his way they would all be doomed to becoming academics. Banish the thought. The little brown haired girl would be his perfect little boy, if she were a boy.
"A girl! Reading books!" he exclaimed, halting steps away from her.
"Obviously," Gaston muttered, rolling his eyes. What did he think she was, a sheep?
"It's positively indecent…" he trailed off, noticing what exactly her reading material was, "not to mention you stole from one of my pupils."
The little girl handed him the book, "No, Sir. I found it! I was going to return it as soon as school was over, I promise," she said, wearing the sweetest expression under her mountain of brown curls.
Unmoved, the man continued to berate the poor little girl. It looked like she might burst into tears.
"Welcome to Villeneuve," he muttered, feeling pleased with himself when LeFoux failed to bite back a laugh.
If the girl wanted to bloody read, he'd happily trade places with her. If it could get him out of his daily routine of going to school, he'd rally the village to make it happen. Damn the Headmaster, he hated that man.
Minutes went on, and he was starting to lose interest in the one sided conversation. As fascinating as it was to see a subject to an even more violent tirade than the one he inspired, it wasn't anything original. For someone so dedicated to thinking, he decided the Headmaster was alarmingly short on ideas.
His mind drifted off to the new gun his father gave him the night before. He looked forward to trying it out at the week's end, when he finally would have a break from the insufferable monotony of the academy. His mind drifted off to Amelie, when he would see her next, have a chance to run his hands through her pretty blonde locks, as well as over decidedly more intimate parts of her.
"I want my book back," muttered LeFoux, dragging him back to less pleasant places.
Concern marred the girl's little features, and Gaston waited for the inevitable conclusion to the day's excitement; her apologizing, LeFoux getting his book back, and him finally going home to have dinner.
"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, "but you're wrong. That doesn't make sense!"
Gaston did a double take, positive he heard her wrong. Judging by the look on his least favourite person's face, he wasn't the only one confused. The Headmaster couldn't have appeared more shocked if the girl had struck him. He started shouting, any attempt at decorum gone as he yelled at the tiny little girl.
She seemed unconcerned, although her eyes shone suspiciously bright with what might be tears. Sitting back in her spot, she pulled out a different book, one that was tucked away in her basket, starting to read it instead.
The shocked expression on Gaston's face morphed into a grin, and he couldn't stop grinning as he watched the man, sputtering mad. When he finally went silent, Gaston's smile only increased further. He was just sad that more of the boys hadn't been around to witness the stunning, somewhat involuntary, set down.
Rendered speechless, the Headmaster turned back towards the school. Gaston knew he should at least try and temper the look on his face, but it was physically impossible to stifle his glee. This was the single best thing that had happened since school began, never mind his gun or Amelie. When the man's glare intensified, Gaston realized he didn't even care that the next day promised to be terrible.
"My book…" LeFoux muttered, apparently missing the utter brilliance of what had just taken place. Instead, he looked at the school in which the man had disappeared with his course work in a sad sort of way Gaston would never understand, even if he bothered to try.
"Here," Gaston shoved his text in his friend's hands, still beaming, "Take mine. Not like I'm going to read it anyway."
Belle, he later learned her name was, the artist's daughter.